


Escape from Skygeirr

by BlizzWeirdo



Category: StarCraft (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlizzWeirdo/pseuds/BlizzWeirdo
Summary: "I survived experiments, torture, and worse."This story explores Admiral Alexei Stukov's experience on Skygeirr Station through the eyes of a Moebius/ Dominion-employed researcher. Like many of the early SC short stories, it is very dark and the ending is somewhat unexpected.I wrote this story for StarCraft 2's anniversary, and WOW it got away from me.This work has not been betaed, which may mean it is not as well edited as my works normally are (I did not want to subject my beta reader to the themes in this work).Trigger warnings: There is a graphic sex scene, an implied off-screen rape, and detailed descriptions of torture in this work.I don't know what's wrong with me, honestly. 2020 has been... weird.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Escape from Skygeirr

Jamie Tran had been surprised at how easy it had been for her to get a job with Moebius—especially on a Dominion research station as large as _Skygeirr_. She had no faith that her credentials would hold up to scrutiny, and they shouldn't have. They were completely fabricated. Even so, there was some truth in them; she had been a medic and she had spent time as a research assistant in a biochem lab. But on Earth, not on an Umojan deep-space research outpost as she had claimed.

Her work on the station was easy almost to the point of monotony. She sat in a lab the size of a football field monitoring rows and rows of robotic laboratory equipment specially designed to perform a series of tests aided by a conveying gravbelt. Dressed from head to toe in a hazmat suit, she transferred specially packaged zerg and protoss DNA from containers—wheeled in from somewhere on the station beyond her clearance—to sterile stasis slides. Then, she stacked them into a specialized loader that fed the slides into the powerful sensory equipment each row of robots possessed. At the end of the line, they were collected, and every three hours, she would take what had been processed, label it, and store it in a cryo vault. It was exacting and boring, and she was on her feet for hours. But it paid well, and they provided room and board. _After working a year or two here,_ she thought _, I'll have a_ real _record—and_ then _I can work_ anywhere _. Preferably somewhere I can have a life._

She had been scrabbling for subsistence in the Koprulu sector ever since she had been marooned there. And though she had her youth and health, she had grown tired of picking up odd jobs and keeping her head down in fear of the Dominion.

As she was putting the last of the slides for the day in the cryo vault, the door opened. An orderly she had never seen before walked in pushing a gravsled. She didn't recognize the type of hazmat suit that he had on. It was much more industrial than hers and a drab black. It appeared to have lights embedded in the helmet like a miner's EVA suit.

"Hey, sorry about this. But we got some new specimens."

"It's 1900 hours!"

"I know, but it'll be quick. Dr. Narud wants this done _now_. He wants ten samples from it from equally spaced biopsies. You could load them in ten rows and be out of here in fifteen minutes. Or you could take longer and get some sweet, sweet OT. The doc just wants them done before morning. Oh, it's zerg though, so keep the lab locked and have your blowtorch handy if… something happens."

"Right, right." It was blasé fact of life here. Zerg tissues were frighteningly volatile. Some were like any other animal tissues, but others weren't and could cause infestation. Zerglings and hydralisks were pretty safe, but anything bigger was actually a colony of creatures and could get out of hand and contaminate the lab—or her.

Tran sighed as the orderly parked the gravsled by her desk and turned to leave. He was right, of course. It was a Dominion facility but run by Moebius, and their overtime policies were very generous—purposefully so. They couldn't afford disgruntled staff that would cause leaks. Tran's feet ached as she popped the container's seal. She desperately wanted to be back in her berth right now, eating a carton of Moebius's surprisingly good framberry granita. Framberry took some getting used to, like a lot of things in this sector, but unlike most new Koprulu-sector experiences, she liked it.

The box opened slowly with a hiss. Fog boiled out of it as the freezing cold air within in it met the robot-warmed air of the lab. Tran pulled a package of sterile slides from the drawer and dragged the biopsy gun across the table. She peeked under the desk to make sure her portable blowtorch was in reach. In her line of work, she had seen everything-protoss crests, nerve cords, zerg ganglia, hydralisk jaws. Nothing was new to her, surprised her, or made her uncomfortable. Nothing inside was she not ready for. She waved the fog away… and screamed.

Inside was a human hand. She had seen amputations—fresh ones on the battlefield. But in this setting, in a _laboratory_ , it was different. Tran knew the implication of what she was seeing. _They said this was zerg… Am I supposed to be seeing this? Is this a mistake? Are there human subjects here? Are they being experimented on? Was this person dead? Where…_ who _did this_ come _from?_ She looked more closely at the hand. It was a man's hand and a right hand; the person it came from seemed to be older. The nails were short, and there were some calluses on it—and a battered, worn wedding band on the ring finger. Oddly, there was something familiar about both the hand and the dull, scratched ring. All in all, it didn't seem to have been subjected to much trauma and could feasibly have come from a cadaver. The blood on it didn't seem fresh—almost like the dark, purple blood she saw frequently on zerg specimens—and the skin was grey like a corpse that had been dead for weeks.

Tran regained her composure. She lowered the biopsy gun into the container and pulled the trigger. As the large-gauge needle dug into the flesh of the dorsal side of the hand near the interosseus, the hand spasmed against the biopsy gun as if in pain. She shrieked again, pulling the biopsy gun out of the container and staggering back into her chair, almost falling into it. But then nothing happened. Tran walked back to the container. The hand was immobile again, and there was no sign of the biopsy on the skin. She checked her gun. It had fired, and there was definitely a tissue sample in it. She loaded the sample into a sterile slide and into a separate cryo container. _Did it really move, or have I been working too much?_

Readying the biopsy gun again, she pulled a scalpel out of her toolbelt and warily moved the gun back into position. She pressed the gun back against its flesh again, this time near the wrist. No response. She carefully pulled the trigger. The hand jumped again and she screamed, but as she did, she stabbed the scalpel down between the second and third metacarpals, pinning it to the inside of the case. The hand writhed against the scalpel, finally succeeding in ripping itself apart. Terrified and still screaming, she wrenched the scalpel out of the box and stabbed the hand over and over and over again. Her wild stabbing severed the ring finger from the hand, and when she brought the scalpel down again, it caught on the ring, throwing it out of the container and onto the desk where it rolled and wobbled to a stop. Tran hardly noticed and continued to stab at the hand until it was a pile of bone, muscle, and torn skin, vaguely quivering inside the container. She sighed in relief.

Coming to her senses, she loaded the biopsy on a slide and quickly took and slided eight more samples. She turned away and put the slides onto ten of the robot sensor arrays as the orderly had suggested and then walked back to the container. The lid was slightly ajar, and as she picked it up to fix it, she screamed again. Inside was the hand—perfectly reformed. She slammed the lid back down, locked it, then sat heavily in her chair. For several minutes she did nothing but stare at the container, wondering what had just happened, wondering which was the hallucination: what she experienced then, or what she saw now. Then she saw the ring still sitting on the counter. _It wasn't a hallucination_ , she thought. _It did move, I did hack it to pieces… and it_ did _regenerate!_ But now there was a problem—the ring was a contaminant. It should have been in the container with the hand. And the longer it stayed out, the more the risk of contamination. _If they have to shut down this lab, I'm fired._ But she also didn't want to open the container again. She thought for a minute what to do, staring at the ring. There was something about it that she recognized. Koprulu sector people, she noticed, didn't often wear wedding bands—much less traditional gold ones.

Tran opened the supply cabinet behind her and pulled out a petri dish, a bottle of powerful acid, a spare disposable glove, and a pair of tweezers. Going to the nearby sink, she filled the petri dish with acid, set the glove beside it, and walked apprehensively towards the gold ring. After what had happened with the hand, she steeled herself, ready if something awful happened. Infestation could hide on the smallest of surfaces, and under stress could grow exponentially out of what seemed like thin air. Shakily she chased the ring around the table with the tweezers, unable to control her hand. After a few attempts, she got a grip on it and dropped it into the petri dish. It fizzed a bit, but she knew that wasn't a sign of infestation—only that there was some kind of biological material on it. The acid also shined it, and as she looked closer, she saw an inscription or design on the inside with what looked like runes. Picking it up once more, she stuck it under the faucet and ran water over it, removing the acid. Finally, she placed it in the glove, tied it shut to isolate it, and disinfected her work surface.

 _Crisis averted_ , she thought. There had been no contamination or infestation. _And no one is going to miss the ring_. There was surveillance equipment in the lab, but it was focused on the robots, not the prep table. It would be hard to tell what she was doing at the periphery. She picked up the container and as calmly as possible took it to cryo storage. As she was walking, she argued with herself over what to do with the ring. She wanted to leave it in the lab, but it might be discovered by one of the other lab assistants. But if she took it with her, it would be hard to smuggle out of the clean room. _Just open the damn container,_ she thought, _then you don't have to worry about it!_ She didn't have the courage. Tran decided, as she shut the enormous door to the cryo vault, that she would have to take the ring with her.

There were no pockets in her hazmat suit for obvious reasons. But she did have a utility belt. Out of the range of the sensors, she tied the glove around the belt and kept her arm over it. Making sure that everything was put away, she made her way to the clean room. The only cameras inside were thermal cameras because of privacy but also to check for hitchhiking zerg infestation. She disrobed, untied the glove from the hazmat suit's belt, put it under her arm and shoved the hazmat suit into a decontamination chute. Tran kept it in her hand or under her arm as she was decontaminated in a shower-like disinfectant room and a UV room. Finally, she was thermal scanned again and able to put on a pair of scrubs that had been left for her on the outside. Furtively, she slipped the glove in the waistband of her pants and made her way to her berth.

In her quarters, she finally relaxed. Unlike some of the workers at Skygeirr, she had a small single room to herself. She considered herself lucky on the one hand, but it was also terribly isolating. Tran had no friends onboard, and she thought this was largely why. In the back of her mind though, she knew having friends would be dangerous and kept anyone at arm's length. Discovering that she was from Earth would be disastrous. Tossing the ring on her desk, she kicked her shoes off and fell face-first into her bunk, breathing in the soapy, clean aroma of the bed's duvet. Another perk of living on Skygeirr was that bed linens were changed every day. She pulled the duvet around her and turned over so that the duvet cocooned her. Quickly, she went to sleep. But her mind had kept running in the background of her conscious thought, processing what she had been through. She dreamed she was still in the lab, staring at the hand as she had first seen it—a right hand, palm down with the ring still on the ring finger. It was out on the counter now. She watched as it began drumming its fingers on the table. In the background, she heard a slow, growling voice speaking. Tran couldn't make out what was being said. It was either too far away or speaking a language she didn't understand. As it spoke, the hand would make small gestures as if emphasizing a point. But then, the voice stopped for a moment, "Ah, Sgt. Tran. Good. Come with me. I have something for you." The hand turned over as if cupping something. The hand was familiar, the voice was familiar, the ring…

_The ring!_

Her mind screamed at her, startling her awake. When her eyes opened, she was staring at the ring, still in the glove, on her desk. She slipped shakily out of bed as the dream faded away. It was still the middle of the night, she realized. She picked up the ring, stretching the plastic tight against it so she could examine it. There were scars all over the outside, put into relief by the cleaning she had given it. _Whoever wore it sure let it take a beating,_ she thought. They did some sort of labor _A miner, a farmer, or…_ They could have been in the military, she thought. If she recognized the hand or the ring, it could have been someone that she served with. She hoped that it wasn't.

Turning the ring over, she again saw the inscription on the underside of the band. Looking more closely at it, she realized it was not a design or runes but that it was in Cyrillic. Next to it was a date. A chill ran down her spine as she realized the date on it was written in the standard way dates were recorded on Earth; this was something uncommon in the Koprulu sector. She pulled a datapad out of a drawer in her desk and tapped on it to wake it. Searching around on it, she opened a translation program and poked around on the datapad until she was able to change the keyboard. She tapped out each character into the translation app: "Alexei and Vera, 8.8.2483."

She felt her throat close with dread. _No, he's dead. He died on Char. They recovered his body. It's a coincidence._ The dream became clearer for her. She had met him in person once. He had given her an award for bravery—a Bronze Gammadon—for saving a record number of troops in battle. It had been a private ceremony; he had simply handed it to her, but promised that when they returned to Earth, she would get the proper pomp and circumstance. She realized now he was giving it to her because he was betting he wouldn't return home, and he wanted to be the one to give it to her. But also that she may not either, and it was better for her to be honored then instead of never. It occurred to her later—much later—that there wasn't just a stash of Gammadons sitting around on the ship. They had to be issued from Earth. Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov had given her one of his.

At the time she had been proud, and it was no wonder his voice, his face, and even his hands were burned into her memory. She had been profoundly shaken when he died. _But what is his_ _hand_ _doing here_ _? Or maybe it wasn't his hand? Maybe it was just the ring on someone_ else's _hand?_ She tried to remember whether he wore his wedding ring on his right hand. Russians sometimes did that, she recalled. Tran almost believed it was some sort of cruel prank.

A notification came across her datapad. It was about a message Dr. Emil Narud. "Reassignment" it read. Confused, she opened it. "Good Evening Tran," it read, "I saw that a sample from one of our experiments was incorrectly routed to your lab. I applaud your ingenuity and fortitude in securing and appropriately handling the specimen. I also apologize for not preparing you for it, but like I said, it was not supposed to go to your lab. We have seen fit to terminate the orderly who brought the specimen to you, and this has caused some shifting in staffing. Since you have already been exposed to the experiment without the proper clearance, we're going to go ahead and give you black-level clearance and bring you into the infestation unit of our facility. There will be a promotion for you in it; you will supervise the collection of samples and the four research assistants in the infestation lab. The offer letter for this position is attached to this message. Please take the morning off to review the documents and come to my office after lunch. We'll talk more about this then. P.S. I'd advise a light meal. You really don't appreciate how disgusting infestation is until you're in the room with it."

The first thing she noticed about it was the lack of actual choice that she had been given. He didn't ask her if she wanted the position, just that he would discuss it with her. Tran opened the offer letter. The pay bump was substantial. But with it seemed the implication that she may have to stay with Moebius for longer than she had wanted. She didn't want high clearance. High clearance meant that they would try to keep her in the organization. That wasn't the end of the world, but she had noticed that at higher levels Moebius was somewhat cult-like. She couldn't tell if that was because they cultivated that way of thinking in their leadership or that people who were like that were readily promoted. Either way, it was troubling, and she couldn't see herself—especially as someone non-native to this sector—caring enough about a business that she would express that type of fealty to Dr. Narud or anyone else. A higher profile might get her more attention, and if the Dominion board looked into her background, it would not hold up to scrutiny. And, to top it off, she did not like the idea of working with the infested even _without_ finding her dead commander's ring on an infested cadaver. But things were in motion now, and she had little way to stop it.

#

At about 1400 hours, Tran was standing with Dr. Narud at the large airlock at the entrance of what everyone euphemistically called the "Black Wing." She was right. There was no refusal of the role. And she was disturbed slightly by some of the questions that Dr. Narud asked. He seemed to be very interested in her lack of familial ties, which came up when she had to fill out extra paperwork for the new position; he had commented on her lack of emergency contacts. She had given him the story he gave everyone: Kel-Morian. The guild wars. Dead parents. No siblings. Enlistment and eventual service on hospital ships and then on research stations in Umojan space. He didn't seem to believe it, but it also didn't seem to bother him that she was lying.

"Nervous?" Dr. Narud said, smiling slightly as the airlock door hissed opened. It was a strangely cat-like smile, out of place on his stoic-looking, grandfatherly face. The more she spoke to him, the persona that he outwardly projected seemed like a mask. There was something mischievous underneath, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"Not really," she said. "This is dangerous work, but only slightly more dangerous than what I was doing."

"Well, you may change your mind when you mean subject X1."

"X1?"

"We have a… special case among the infested here," he said, stepping over the threshold with her. "You'll meet him soon."

The two of them went through clean-room protocols separately, Dr. Narud going first. On the other side, Dr. Narud led her through the wing, showing her the lab—just like the one that she had been working in on the other side of _Skygeirr_. But as they walked down the dark corridors of the Black Wing, the layout of this part of _Skygeirr_ seemed very different. Almost immediately she heard noises: shrieks, moans, but then noises that were inhuman in origin. Dr. Narud looked at her, as if judging her reaction. She tried not to have one, but she was terrified. This experience was shattering the cognitive dissonance that she had been engaging in during her tenure at _Skygeirr_. She knew that the "samples" that she had been getting from the zerg or the protoss had to have come from somewhere, but plausibly they could have come from outside the station—the field, battles, or even from willing donors in the case of the protoss however unlikely that may be. In the back of her mind she had worried that the enormous size of _Skygeirr_ was due to keeping populations of both the zerg and the protoss on the station—a dangerous prospect. But the infested were different and the risks involved in handling them safely was not worth the study. There was no cure for human infestation. _But maybe that's the point? Think of how famous Moebius would be if they found a cure for infestation?_ Tran placated herself with that thought. Still, she couldn't substantiate why they would have any protoss on the station. _Maybe they don't… maybe it's just the zerg and the infested_. The thought still troubled her.

The screaming and shrieking continued and grew louder as they made their way down the hallway.

"Do you think you're ready for the pens then?"

"The pens?"

Ahead were black-armored Moebius marine's in CMCs. She was taken aback. On her side of the station, she had never seen any kind of heavy military presence—only a few Dominion soldiers and civilian security guards. But in the Black Wing, she could see several doors flanked by two marines in CMCs. At the end of the hallway was a large, heavy door that was also flanked by CMCs. A goliath stood there as well, its canopy almost scraping the ceiling.

Dr. Narud walked up to one of the doors. The marines moved aside when they saw him, not bothering to check his credentials. Dr. Narud led her through a series of airlocks, each one more reinforced than the other. Unlike the airlock in her lab, this was clearly not to keep contaminants out but to keep something very strong in. At the other end, Narud stopped before the last, clear neosteel door. He invited her to look beyond the door. Inside the warehouse-sized room were vast pens. And packed in like cattle were people—or what used to be people. There was no room for them to move. They clawed at the pens, their tongues lolling and their infested appendages oozing through the grates in the metal barrier. One infested was able to wiggle his tongue through the pen. But it arced with electricity, turning his tongue to ash.

"Every day, samples will need to be taken. You will supervise ten orderlies who will take samples from infested from each room. Your job is to make sure they do their job efficiently, safely, and that they follow protocols both in sample collection and dispersal but also in decontamination." Tran relaxed. _I won't be in the room with them—thank the belt for that._ "Oh, and one more thing. You'll be solely responsible for sample-taking and isolation of specimens from subject X1. Come. I guess it's time that you meet him." The cat-like smile again. Tran was beginning to think that he enjoyed unnerving people.

They made their way back through the airlocks and into the immense corridor outside. She realized the most probable reason why the hallway was so wide and tall; the goliath was already there, but a siege tank could have easily been driven through the corridor with a few feet of clearance. If a siege tank _did_ come from the airlock and into the hallway, there was only one door it could easily fire upon—the large, armored door behind which Dr. Narud kept "X1."

The goliath and marines stepped aside for them. There was more security here. Dr. Narud placed his hand on the security panel beside the doorway.

"Dr. Emil Narud handprint recognized," the computer said. "Voiceprint password needed."

"Goodnight," he said with finality. The door began to unlock from inside in a series of complicated clicks. It was dark inside, and there were more airlocks than had been used for the infested. And unlike the infested pens, it was eerily quiet.

As they stood at the end of the airlock, staring into the room beyond, Dr. Narud activated an intercom at the side of the airlock door.

"Subject X1. Come forward. I have someone I want you to meet!"

There was a stirring inside. It wasn't a noise, but a presence. A strange, fiery light appeared, dim and far away at first, but then began stalking closer. It was like someone carrying hot coals or an old oil lamp. As it neared, she realized that it wasn't either of those things. It was eyes—psionically charged, baleful, piercing eyes. And as the eyes came closer, the dim light from the airlock fell on the creature's face. It was her former commander—Vice Admiral Stukov.

Tran tried not to react. He was walking naked, hunched over, one arm twisted by infestation and wrapped around his waist. His other arm rested on top of it, his wrist ending in a half stump. _It_ was _his hand!_

"Fuck you, Narud. Damn you to _hell_! I do not care _what_ you want or _who_ you have brought here! I will end _your life_ and _theirs_ in the most painful way possible!"

"Now, now, X1. That's how you lost your hand, remember?" Stukov growled at him in rage. That's when Narud took his finger off the intercom button and pulled a small device out of his pocket. "He's a bit of a handful—sorry, poor choice of words… Unlike the other infested, we want to observe his behavior, so we give him some room to stalk around. In life he was one of the leaders of the United Earth Directorate fleet, but… that's not who's in there. That is a reanimated corpse. All infested are just… nerve impulses and ganglion firing. He's a peculiar case because it seems as though on some level some higher-order reasoning is happening. But don't be confused. He's not alive, and he is _not_ human. Whatever it says to you, ignore it. And if he gives you any trouble when you try to get a sample…" Narud pointed the device towards him and pressed a button. Tran could feel something or hear something—she wasn't quite sure. There was wailing from the outside hallway. Stukov began to scream and then convulse, writhing on the floor. It was then she saw a small, domed node set in the ceiling, crackling with energy. "This is a psi destroyer. It disrupts all psionic activity in a radius. Its proximity to the subject causes him to be subjected to intense pain. Long term exposure would turn what's left of his brain matter to pudding. But in short bursts, it's effective in… calming him." He turned the device off. Stukov was now still and lying on his side on the floor, his back to them. There were zerg protuberances on his back that looked like they had been removed, regrown, and removed again. Dried zerg blood and new blood was all over him. Her stomach churned.

"I'll leave this with you. I have another one in my office. Come in, hit the button, take a sample, and then leave. Some days we will be performing experiments and already have him subdued. Please do not use it if so." Hesitantly, she took it from him. "A sample was taken earlier. There's nothing for you to do today. I'll leave you here and make sure your clearance will work for X1 tomorrow. I'd take another look around the lab. Meet the other assistants and familiarize yourself with the procedures. Do you have any questions?"

"Uh, no… Not right now."

"Good. If you think of anything, send me a message or stop by my office. I love visitors." The cat-like smile again. Dr. Narud turned and left. Tran stayed, staring at the back of her former commander. He didn't move. She put her hand to the intercom but choked on her words. She didn't know what to say or even if she should say anything. _It's not even him. It's an infested._ But it was hard to see him as an infested; the once proud man had been poisoned by his enemy and had become one of them. It was something out of a Greek tragedy. And now she'd see the husk of her commander every day for the foreseeable future—and would have a hand in torturing what was left of him.

#

Tran barely slept. At 0500 hours, she decided she would get it over with. She dressed quickly and impulsively slipped Stukov's ring on her thumb. She had tried to find the Gammodon but couldn't. Dr. Narud had been true to his word. She was able to quickly get through security and into the Black Wing. Taking a deep breath, she walked towards X1's cell. The infested in the pens were agitated and wailing.

She put her hand to the security panel, hoping Dr. Narud had input her credentials. As she did, the voice of the station's adjutant greeted her.

"Research Lead Tran handprint recognized. Please type in answers to security questions to set verbal passcode." Hand shaking, Tran typed in her information. "Please speak passcode now."

"Gammodon."

"Passcode accepted. On next entry, verbal passcode and voiceprint will be required."

She entered the airlock and began moving through it. But just as she approached the last door, she heard Stukov bellow with anger.

"No! Get _away_ from me!" Stukov said desperately. And then she heard another voice she never thought she would hear again.

"My good Alexei, you don't recognize your old friend? Come here."

"You're not… you're not Gerard, you're a fucking demon preying on my regrets and insecurities! Stay the hell—" he was cut off mid-sentence by a struggle. She heard a wet thud and what sounded like Stukov getting the wind knocked out of him. "No, don't _touch_ me! Get _off_ —no!"

"You betrayed me, Alexei," Gerard Dugalle said.

"I did not betray Gerard. My conscience is clear!" Stukov's voice was muffled as if DuGalle had him restrained against something face down.

"You should have listened to me about Duran. I would have killed him. I have no patience for traitors like Duran—or you. But you're my friend, Alexei. We can be friends again… But some penance is in order."

"What are you doing?" There was some scuffling. "You _pervert!"_ Stukov growled with pain and rage. Muffled screams and a rhythmic grunting followed. She could hear DuGalle's voice saying something quiet and menacing over Stukov's bellowing and cursing. Finally, it stopped. She could hear Stukov sobbing quietly. Outside, the infested raged. She stood in the airlock rooted in place by shock.

She heard shuffling on the other side of the door to the pen and realized that whoever was in there was about to come through. Without thinking, she bolted back out of the X1 airlock, slowing only to walk calmly past the guards and then throw herself into the infested pen's airlock door.

Instinctively she knew that she was not supposed to hear what had just happened. Cowering just inside the doorway, she watched Dr. Narud slowly walk by, a different, more terrible smile on his face—wide and reptilian and almost not human. He was wiping his hands. There was zerg blood on them and blood on his lab coat around the waist and on the knees of his pants. Tran's lab assistant mind internally chided him about lab protocol and contamination before her conscious mind choked it down. Even after Dr. Narud entered the exit decontamination area, Tran stayed in the airlock, paralyzed by terror. What had she just heard? _Is DuGalle here as well?_ She knew that was impossible. _It must have been an illusion... made by Narud for an experiment. But_ _what I heard wasn't an experiment—that was torture._ Worse _than torture._ She finally ventured out from the pen. The marines in the hallway never moved. They were doing their job, and if she didn't do hers, Dr. Narud would know what she had seen or think she didn't have the stomach for the work. Tran had the sinking feeling that the orderly that had come into her lab a few days ago had not just been "terminated." She walked slowly back to the X1 pen. Tran's feet felt like lead as she walked to the end of the airlock. Hesitantly she walked around in the murky darkness, finally finding him in one of the far corners on his knees and slumped face-first into the intersection of the walls. He wasn't moving, and he was covered in his own blood.

Tran cautiously readied a scalpel. She hoped to take a sample while he was incapacitated and leave. But when she got close to him, she stopped. Tran was horrified by the gnarled, twisted infestation that pierced and corrupted his body, but also pitied the white, fragile, cadaverous form of her former commander, vulnerable and naked before her. She put the scalpel back in her toolbelt and turned away, resolving to come back later. But she heard something just as she reached the airlock. Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with Stukov. He grabbed her by both wrists and slammed her against the airlock door. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The two lights on her helmet lighted his face. His baleful eyes bored into her. And she noticed now that he was missing most of one side of his jaw. She could see into the back of his throat; like his eyes, psionic energy poured out of his ruined maw.

"Who are you? Another of Narud's forms sent here to torture me, eh? Who are you supposed to be? My daughter?" His eyes narrowed. "No, I recognize you. You were the lab assistant here yesterday." Stukov's grip on her wrists strengthened. "I should rip your arms off and eat your flesh—I can do that now as an infested. Maybe that would send Narud a message!"

"A-admiral Stukov?"

For a moment, Stukov was silent.

"What did you just say?" He said quietly.

"Admiral Stukov. I… I have something for you."

"What?"

"Take off my glove. The right one."

He let go of one of her wrists so that he could remove her glove.

"My ring!" He said. "I thought it was gone…" Stukov put the ring back on his finger, which had totally regenerated.

"When I saw it, I knew…" He cut her off, putting a finger to his lips. Stukov returned her glove and slammed her against the airlock again, a look of menace returning to his face.

_Don't speak to me again. There are recording devices here. Who are you?_

"You're tele-?"

_Yes! Quiet! He doesn't know. Think, don't speak._

_I don't think you'll remember me. I was a medic. You gave me a bronze…_

_Gammodon. Yes…_ For a moment he seemed to be thinking, trying to recall her name. _Sgt. Tran. I'd say it was good to see you, but your presence is not good for either of us. You are_ _a familiar face after all these years at least._ _You've come here for a sample, yes?_

_Yes, but…_

_Use the psi destroyer._

_What?_

_Use it. You must perform your duty and avoid Narud's suspicion. Cut something from my back. It hurts there the least. You can't do anything for me._

_But…_

_Go._

_I have so many questions._

_Tomorrow. Press the button, get the sample._

Stukov let go of one of her hands, and Tran moved her hand to her pocket to activate the device. As she activated it, he fell to his knees. She could hear the infested shrieking down the hallway. Stukov started frothing at the mouth and stiffly keeled over. Tran did as he had instructed, cutting a small section of infested skin from his back. She tried not to cut deep and away from anywhere he might would flex a muscle in daily usage. _If he can grow a new_ _hand_ _in forty-eight hours_ , she realized, _his back should heal quickly._ Reluctantly, she left.

#

That night, Tran slept fitfully. She dreamed Dr. Narud was chasing her through the Black Wing, but the hallway was endless and the airlock to the outside was always too far away. But as she ran towards it, the airlock opened. Stukov, looking as he did as a man, walked out. He tried to say something, but she couldn't hear him. He looked past her. She turned to look back at Dr. Narud, and he was gone. She awoke with a start, curled up on her bed. But her blood ran cold when she felt that someone was in the room with her. Tran heard her desk chair scrape across the floor as it was dragged to the bed. As whoever it was got close, she recognized the presence. It was Stukov. She could smell cigar smoke and aftershave. He laid his callused hand on her head, and she felt his ring press into her temple. Slowly, he stroked her hair and started singing some sort of lullaby in, she assumed, Russian. He could hardly do it for laughing at his own husky, discordant singing voice.

For the first time in a few days, Tran slept to her alarm. As she went about her day, she was incredulous to what part of what happened the day before had been a the nightmare. Was it Stukov being attacked by DuGalle? Was it her being chased by Narud? Stukov had definitely not been in her room, but he was a telepath. Had he tried to make contact with her? If he had, his consolation of her was ironic. It was he, she thought, that needed consoling.

Tran found herself back at the X1 pen. She put her hand to the security panel and said her passcode.

_You're here again. Good. Did you sleep well?_

_Was that you? Last night?_

_Yes. I didn't want you to be disturbed by our meeting yesterday._ She wondered if he knew that she had heard. _He must not._

_Must not what?_

_I… thought I heard a voice yesterday…_

_Gerard DuGalle?_

_Yes. How?_

_Come inside. We'll 'talk' more._

Tran opened the last door and stepped into the pen.

 _I'm staying away on purpose. Act as though you are searching for me._ Tran began walking around the pen with false cautiousness.

_Is DuGalle here?_

_Oh, no. DuGalle died, the lucky bastard. He took the easy way out! No, he's not here._

_Then…_

_Narud. He is not who he seems to be._

_He makes me nervous._

_He should make you more than nervous! Stay away from him if you can. He is_ not _human._

_What is he?_

Stukov was silent for a moment.

 _I do not know_. _But he is dangerous—and powerful. But I do not know what he is after. Why torture me? Why collect samples? Do you know? What can you tell me about this facility?_

 _I want to you to answer my questions first._ She was met with a moment of silence.

_Fine. Ask me what you want to know. But be quick. Every moment you're here with me and not harming me will make Narud suspicious._

_Well, are you… alive? How did you get here?_

Stukov chuckled darkly. _I don't have the answer to the first question. I died—not on Char but by that thing, Narud's, hand. He was Samir Duran then. After that, I remember awaking in a different Dominion facility—one not run by Moebius. They told me I had been raised by a cerebrate but "cured" by the protoss. I have no recollection of my first infestation. They observed me while I recuperated. I was doing well until a new doctor, Dr. Emil Narud, began working there. It is my belief he re-infested me for some nefarious purpose. And then he brought me here. I'm hoping maybe I can escape this place—and destroy it. Now please, tell me what you know about this facility._

 _Uh, I'm afraid I'm not especially curious… The Directorate trained that out of me…_ Stukov interjected with a knowing growl. _I used to work in another lab before… before your hand was mistakenly routed to me. I had gotten only zerg and protoss samples up until then. I didn't know they were doing experiments on the infested._

_I would hardly call what Narud is doing to me an experiment. It is revenge and cruelty dressed up as science. He is trying to break me so that I will serve him. But what is he planning? That there are other experiments done on the zerg and protoss here is troubling…_

_We need to get you out of here._

_No, not yet. We need to figure out what is going on here first. And…_ he began, seeming to not want to divulge what he was going to say next, _I am growing more powerful by the day. This telepathy—it is new._

_How?_

_I'm not sure. You have clearance, yes? Use it. Whatever is happening here, it is strengthening me, but I also think it is a danger._ Stukov emerged from the darkness. _You should take that sample now. I don't want to arouse suspicion. The remote. Use it._ He ran at her. She fumbled in her pocket and hit the button. Stukov tumbled as he ran and she stepped out of his way. Tran took out her scalpel as he lay there, twitching. Her eyes stung as she cut another section out of his back.

When she made it back to the new lab, Tran was seeing everything around her with new eyes. She was no longer complacent, looking the other way. Talking to her old commander had awakened the soldier in her. She had a purpose—a mission. But there were junior researchers here, so she could not openly search the place. Tran walked among the rows of robots, pretending to check the machinery and supervise the assistants that were putting samples on slides and feeding them to the robots. In reality, she was looking for surveillance cameras. There were more here certainly, but no surveillance system was perfect. The room had a similar blind spot to the one she had previously worked in. She moved her desk to position it where the computers could not see her. In an abundance of caution, she also moved her monitor so that they could not be seen by someone who passed by. _But this isn't going to help me if someone decides to look at my browsing history—or if using my clearance automatically flags my network activity._ Tran sat and stared at her monitor, trying to think of what to do. _Start simple. What do I know about this station?_

She thought about her clearance in the tissue lab. That was one basic level of clearance. She had access to the habitat areas, which she knew were all concentrated on the lower decks. There were two commissaries, and she never saw anyone coming from upstairs to eat in the morning or going back up after eating in the evening. The recreation areas were all there as well. Her first lab had been mid-station and in the aft. The Black Wing was mid station and on one of the higher decks where it could be accessed easily from above, she reasoned, if they needed to shut it down quickly or they wanted to load in more "subjects." Mentally, she began constructing a partial map of the station. _A map. What's the harm in looking for a map?_ Tran dug around in the network files to find a map of the station and quickly found an interactive one meant to help lower-level employees find the offices of their superiors. With her clearance, she could see about two thirds of the station—the residential and common areas below, her lab and the deck it was on, the office suite where Dr. Narud's office was, the top transport level except for one small corner, and the Black Wing. She traced the outline of the blank part of the map with her fingertip, wondering what was there. The space was so large, there could have been several other labs or three more "wings" like the Black Wing. _If there_ are _more wings, what could they be doing on them?_ Tran could take an educated guess. One of them was probably a protoss wing. _I guess Moebius does keep protoss here for experiments_. The other was a zerg wing. _But what is the third then?_ _And what is down below at the bottom of the orbital tether?_ She had no idea, and no way to find out.

The day passed slowly. Everyone under her had been working in the lab for at least a few months, and she was too apprehensive to make a search while anyone was there. But their experience made them efficient, and most of them were gone by 1700 hours. At that time, she removed some cleaning supplies from a cupboard and made it seem as though she was sanitizing her workspace and planned to do a sweep of the lab. The last lab assistant looked at her curiously—they had janitorial staff for cleaning—but Tran said, "I'm a clean freak." He shrugged and left.

Tran set about systematically cleaning but also searching. _Maybe there is something here that is not the Admiral's or the infested._ But everything she found was infested samples or more pieces of him. Finger, toes, skin, muscle, hair, gametes—all of it was labelled as his. She shut the refrigerator door. _By the looks of the cold storage unit, he's been here a very long time._ A heaviness settled into her chest. It was hard to reconcile the man she knew with what he was enduring here. _The Directorate… there is so much blood on their hands. But…_ She systematically opened each cabinet. There was nothing but supplies. In the last cabinet she found something in plastic bags wrapped in paper. She opened them. Inside was something black and wool. She realized as she unfolded it that it was Stukov's uniform. Tran ran her hand along the front of the jacket. The buttons were tarnished and the wool dusty, but the uniform was still in good shape for one that had been on a dead man. It seemed heavier than her own had been. She wondered if officer uniforms were made of better material or it was her imagination fueled by grief. Tran folded it again, wrapped it, and put it back in the sleeve.

 _There is nothing here._ It told her more about Stukov and his predicament here than it did anything else. The computer, she realized, would be the only thing that would give her any clues. _With my new clearance, I should be able to see_ some _thing._ But it would be all about Stukov, she realized, and infestation. _But maybe there's something in the data gathered from Dr. Narud's "experiments."_ She thought about looking at the data from her lab computer. But she could just as well do so in the privacy of her own berth.

Walking back to her room, she felt like she was being watched. And, in reality, she was. There were cameras everywhere on Skygeirr. _But no one looks unless they have a reason to. And I'm not going to give them one._ Staying at the lab at night would on the surface seem like she was working hard, but if her productivity didn't support that, they would start asking questions, she thought. _But accessing the files in my berth won't arouse suspicion—especially now. I'm new, so of course I'm poking around._ She didn't turn on the light when she came in, sliding immediately into the chair beside her small utility table. Taking out her datapad, she began looking through the files that Narud had made. There were thousands of them—notes, spreadsheets, photos, and video. _Video?_ Tran clicked on a random file—an old one with a date just after the UED's defeat.

Someone fumbled with the camera. A female doctor—blonde and in her fifties—crouched in the video feed. She nervously adjusted her hazmat uniform.

"Uh, okay," she said, getting out of the way of the feed. Behind her was a hospital bed, and in it was Stukov, wan and unconscious, surrounded by a forcefield. His left arm was partially bionic, and there was a large bandage on his cheek. He was intubated, and there were wire leads attached to the large bandage that stretched across his left pectoral muscle. "So, this is our patient, Vice Admiral Alexei Vasilievich Stukov. He is a POW from the United Earth Directorate's fleet. After his apparent death, he was, uh, infested? We assume that's when it happened? But for some reason his faculties were unaffected. As you can see here…" The woman walked to him and pointed to his bandaged pectoral. "Admiral Stukov met a pretty nasty and violent end. There was still shrapnel in his chest. Whatever hit him took a lot of his arm. He, uh, probably used it to shield himself. But it looks like the, uh, bomb or explosive round penetrated his chest cavity. His ticker was badly damaged and we had to get him a new, bionic one. His arm had to be wired together and fitted with bionic muscle and metal joints. Not sure how he's going to feel about that when he wakes up. The UED's got some 'body purity' weirdness going on. Other injuries…" she said, indicating his face, "We had to take a muscle and skin graft from his thigh to fix up the soft tissues in his jaw." Her demeanor changed. She looked nervous and excited as she stepped towards the end of the bed. "But now for the exciting bit. He was injected with a serum with specially developed protoss nanites that have essentially cured him of his infestation. Unfortunately for Mr. Stukov here, the infestation was what was holding him together. He needed immediate medical attention when he got hit with the serum, but we've got him patched up and under observation to make sure that he really _is_ cured and that he doesn't have any adverse reaction to the bionic parts we've installed for him. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but his vitals are strengthening, and _hopefully_ the infestation won't return, but that's why we're monitoring him." She walked back to the camera. "So… we'll see! And I'll document his process." The video ended.

Tran took a deep breath. Seeing Stukov alive and human was an emotional experience. It reminded her of a perhaps not better but a simpler time. She had trusted him and she had trusted DuGalle. It never really occurred to her that they would fail or at least not as utterly as they had. The other version of him—the one that didn't exist any longer—reminded her that she was not the same either and that another version of her had died with the destruction of the UED fleet. She played the next video.

The same woman in the same gear appeared. Beside her, Stukov was awake, no longer intubated, but listless. He was propped up in bed, his eyes opening and shutting slowly.

"So, it's been seventy-two hours. Mr. Stukov is recovering quickly and there's still no sign of the virus's return. He's not ready to try walking, but we're going to test his arm and cognitive function." She turned to him. "Mr. Stukov?" Stukov roused slightly, his eyebrows arching at her voice. He mumbled something unintelligible. "Admiral?"

"Yes?" He said sleepily.

"Do you know where you are?"

"In… hospital?"

"Yes, you're here with us on the hospital ship _Nightingale._ Do you know who I am?"

"Doctor… Whatley?"

"I'm surprised you remember that, Mr. Stukov… Admiral."

"Please… Alexei…"

"Well, okay then. Seems to be pretty 'with it' considering. I introduced myself to him when he first came in and… he was barely conscious. I guess we can go a little further. Okay, Alexei… What is the last thing you remember before coming here?"

Stukov's face darkened and he turned away from her.

"I was… shot."

"Shot? You mean an injection?"

"No, with a gun."

"Interesting. He remembers dying… You don't remember the experiments on Braxis?"

"The psi disruptor?" He said, confused, his brows knitted over his almost-closed eyes.

"Hm, note for future study: subject does _not_ remember his infestation. For now I think we'll check his bionic arm before he gets tired out."

"I'm… not tired," he said, barely finishing his sentence.

"Okay there, buddy. Whatever you say. Can you lift your left arm? Your other left." Tran watched a few more of these happy-seeming videos. In them, she watched Stukov get stronger, start walking, and start flirting with the doctor. But the videos began to take a dark turn. The _Nightingale_ made a stop at _Skygeirr_ and Dr. Narud insinuated himself among the staff. Almost immediately, Stukov began to become ill again. The last video she watched of the _Nightingale_ tapes was of Stukov's infestation returning—of fits of fever-induced rage and of Stukov tearing at his bionic arm and pulling his artificial heart by the leads out of his chest as the infestation rejected it. She stopped watching.

 _This is not what I came here to see._ She clicked on a more recent she was greeted with Dr. Narud's face. He spoke calmly into the camera, stepping back to reveal Stukov's holding cell. But at first she did not see Stukov. It took her a moment to figure out what she was looking at it. There was a murky, intermittent light and a weird kind of static sound in the room. She finally saw him, naked, blindfold, bound in chains and flanked by two men. He wasn't in the form he was now. He looked smaller and more like he had when she had known him in the UED fleet. _This must be from years ago—right after he was re-infested._ One of the men was holding something heavy that was taking all his strength.

"What do you want with me, Doctor? What is this? Am I going for a swim?" That's when she realized he was standing at the top of a tank that was slowly filling. The sound stopped.

"More like a dive, subject X1."

"Dr. Narud, you know what my name is…"

Narud nodded to the men standing beside him. One of them grabbed Stukov and the other dropped the heavy object into the tank. Water welled up in its wake, and a continuous, loud scraping noise began. She couldn't tell what it was at first but then realized it was the chain around Stukov's legs. The weight was attached to them. The other man ripped Stukov's blindfold off. Stukov looked around, bewildered, but seemed to put the scene together quickly, growling in surprise. He tried to step away from the tank, but the chain around his leg caught and the man pushed him in. Stukov was only able to yell angrily before he hit the water. The water went white with the disturbance. For a while, she couldn't see him inside as he thrashed around.

"We have a hypothesis that the subject does not require oxygen or respiration. Curiously, he still believes that he does."

The water cleared and Tran could see Stukov in the water. He had wrestled his hands free and was jerking at the chain on his leg. Air bubbled from his nose and mouth. He was desperately trying to keep from gulping in the water around him. He started banging angrily on the glass. Tran couldn't imagine what was going through Stukov's mind. He clearly thought he was drowning. The look of panic on his face chilled her to the bone.

"The time at which most people would have become oxygen starved has passed. However, the subject is still _hanging on._ "Stukov clawed at his own throat, but he couldn't suppress his autonomic response to breathe. Air billowed out of his nose and throat and haltingly he breathed in, thrashing as he did so. And then, as if he had actually drowned, he hung there, still, suspended weightless in the water to the anchor that was holding him down. His eyes were closed as if he were dead. Dr. Narud stopped, walking to the tank. He seemed bewildered, as if he thought that maybe he was wrong. Dr. Narud walked hesitantly to the tank and peered inside.

"Stukov?" He said.

Stukov's eyes opened wide. The evil light that she recognized from the form he had now flashed out from the darkness. He bellowed at him and banged on the glass of the tank, startling him. Dr. Narud was not amused. He took a step back and looked towards the camera.

"The subject has overcome his autonomic respiration response, and our hypothesis is correct. Subject X1 does _not_ have enough humanity left to need to breathe. We will leave him in the tank for the next few days to observe his reaction to cold as well as isolation." Dr. Narud went on to discuss his experiment. Tran stopped listening. She opened another file. It began with Stukov screaming. It was a feed taken from Dr. Narud's head-mounted surgical cam as he flayed Stukov and removed each of his organs—while Stukov watched. Tran closed the vid quickly. She opened another. Stukov was a stump on the floor, all his extremities removed. The next, they were testing his reaction to heat with a flame thrower. If this had been a movie and the people in it actors, it would have been comical. But no, it was her superior officer and a person she respected. _Dr. Narud is a monster_. She opened one last file. A voice began speaking, but it wasn't Stukov's—or Narud's. It was Admiral Gerard DuGalle. DuGalle stalked into the frame. But it wasn't DuGalle; she could tell as much from his gait. And she recognized the reptilian smile. He had gotten a UED uniform from somewhere, _Or that's an illusion too,_ she thought.

"My good Alexei, you don't recognize your old friend? Come here."

"You're not… you're not Gerard, you're a fucking demon preying on my regrets and insecurities! Stay the hell—." Tran realized that it was the recording from the day before. She reflexively shut down the datapad and turned it over. _I'm not going to sleep tonight_. She asked the computer for the time. It was 2100. She hadn't eaten, but she didn't feel hungry. What she had seen had made her sick to her stomach. But she knew that she would be hungry, and that the dining hall would close in about an hour. _Then I'll be hungry_ and _unable to sleep._

The halls were mostly empty except for security personnel, and the enormous, domed dining room and cafeteria was eerily quiet—so much so that when her tray clattered on the rail it echoed and the only two other people in the dining room looked up. She got her usual late-night meal: a bowl of noodles and a framberry soda. It was a light meal that she could sleep on. She sat alone near the edge of the dome, looking out into the atmosphere of the gas giant that _Skygeirr_ closely orbited and also refueled from. It was beautiful in a way with a constant, soft light and feathery clouds lighted both by the reflection of the nearby star's light and its corona. Sometimes there were spectacular starsets, but that only happened every few days.

She felt someone's eyes upon her. Looking back into the cafeteria, she saw a mountainous, red-headed and bearded man who had just sat down. He made eye contact with her and nodded in a way that said "Sorry, was looking outside, actually." She returned to her food. But something about the man piqued her attention. Or, rather something, _not_ about the man—she couldn't place him, but he was wearing the standard garb of a lab assistant. She had worked in two of the labs on _Skygeirr_ , and she would _definitely_ remember a man of his stature. _He_ has _to work in one of the other labs!_

Tran picked up her tray and started walking towards him, hoping that she could think of a logical excuse for speaking with him by the time she got to his table. She made sure that her badge was visible so that he could see that she had top clearance—presumably like his.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here? It's kind of creepy here alone." _Lame. But maybe?_ The man's big, watery blue eyes looked up at her, seemingly surprised that she had spoken to him. There were beads of sweat at the temples of his coarse, red hair. It seemed to have taken him some effort to walk this far. He had on his tray more than what she would have eaten in a day.

"Uh," he stammered. His eyes softened from suspicion to sympathy. "Sure! Yeah, it's super quiet in here usually at this time. I get off late a lot. I guess I'm used to it." He laughed nervously. She sat down across from him, looking at his badge. It didn't look any different than her own. _Of course, it wouldn't be as simple as that_.

"Working late? I thought there were rules about that in the labs?"

"Oh, uh… Not in the one I'm in. Top secret, deadlines, blah blah blah."

"Isn't everything though?"

"Yeah, I guess. The noodles any good? I think that's the _one_ thing I haven't tried."

"The spicy veg ones are. Don't bother with the others. The meat flavored ones taste like the bottom of a bio-vat."

"Ew. Yeah, the vat-grown meat here can be really inconsistent. We should have our own vats considering we grow our own tissues here and can even DNA/ RNA recombine."

"Hah, yeah. That's a point." Even the smallest of conversations, she realized, could be revealing. The fact that his lab had a grow vat and a recombine meant that the purpose of the lab was different. _Cloning, most likely_ _._ She decided to test her luck.

"Yeah, but even our splices don't turn out that well."

"Oh yeah, last week that hybrid that just… melted. Were you there for that?" He said, looking at his clearance card and then at hers. "I don't think I've seen you before…"

"I work an early shift. And I mostly do tissue suspensions and storage."

"Ah, yeah, probably shouldn't have said anything about it? But you know as well as anyone that zerg and protoss DNA doesn't mix without a _lot_ of coaxing. I don't even know why we're doing it. _Science_ I guess?"

Tran tried to contain her surprise at this. _What the fuck did he just tell me? Hybrids? Protoss and zerg hybrids? Why?_ She needed to tell Stukov. Maybe he would know. Tran finished her dinner quickly, only making polite chitchat. He obliquely told her a few more things—that the hybrids were barely surviving, but that the ones that did were studied by Dr. Narud personally. And they were, as he put it, "big sumnabitches.'" Successful ones disappeared down the elevator he said, where few others had the clearance to go.

Back in her quarters, she found it hard to sleep after what the man had told her and the torture that she had seen Stukov put through. And whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Dr. Narud's predatory smile. After a few fitful dreams of being chased by a hulking, shadowy mass she knew to be a hybrid, she heard a familiar noise—her chair being dragged across the floor.

Her eyes opened and she was in her room staring at the ceiling once more. She turned to see Stukov again beside her bed. He sat down slowly in the chair, putting his hat on the table behind him. Stukov appeared exactly as he had before: in uniform and just as he looked during the invasion. Tran wondered if she imagined him like that or it was how Stukov wanted to present himself.

"You going to sing me a lullaby again?"

Stukov chuckled.

"I thought this might be the best way for us to talk."

"I guess… But why my bedroom?" She said, sitting up.

"I didn't choose—you did. You must feel safest here. And waking up must be symbolic to you… But… I won't theorize what being naked means."

Tran looked down at herself. She was indeed naked. Reflexively, she hastily pulled her blanket up over herself.

"What the…"

Stukov laughed at her embarrassment raucously. He eyed her with his eyebrows raised.

"Sometimes… we have subconscious feelings that we don't even know we have."

"It's not that, I swear I…" He reached out a hand to calm her.

"All you need to do is believe you are wearing clothes and you will be." She thought about it, then looked down at herself. Instantly she was wearing a red silk pajama set in a Chinese style; she had a similar pair as a child. Tran relaxed. "So, have you found anything? Anything to tell us what they are doing here?"

Tran detailed the conversation that she had with the man from the hybrid lab. Stukov did not seem surprised.

"I… suspected something of the sort. I could… feel it. My newfound powers make me… sensitive to psionic creatures like the zerg and protoss. Recently, I have felt something… new. But hybridization? For what purpose?"

"I don't know. I don't think _he_ knew."

"It must be a weapon. But… for whom? Narud works for no one. If he has an allegiance, I don't know who it would be to."

There was silence between the two of them. Tran finally spoke.

"We need to get you out of here."

"Why?"

"I looked through Dr. Narud's files. He… what he's done to you it's…"

Stukov looked away.

"You shouldn't have pried."

"I… I know, but I…"

"Don't look at them again."

"I won't, but… How… How do you stay… You're so calm and…"

He straightened in his chair, his face turning stony and stern.

"I've been captured before—and tortured. I have been trained to resist. I was privy to intelligence that would have been very damaging in enemy hands. But what Narud is doing… My power as an infested grows, and I'm sure that you saw that I have… regenerative powers. My mind seems to be the same." Tran frowned. Stukov chuckled. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. And when the time comes—soon—I _will_ escape."

"I'm going to help you. And I'm going with you," Tran said, surprising herself.

"If you help me, you'll need to. So don't. But…" Stukov said, shifting in his chair uneasily. "I wouldn't stay here regardless of the circumstances. Narud is… dangerous. And so any endeavor he is involved in is suspect. Any data here will be used for nefarious purposes. He is _not_ human, and he is not zerg or protoss. He is… something else. Something powerful and evil and… old. What I feel from him is… I don't know but it is dark. I hope that he does not sense my rising power or at the very least he underestimates it. And I hope that he cannot see into my mind. Because then you will be in danger as well."

"He doesn't seem to be able to."

"For now, no."

"What do we do?"

"Keep looking. Schematics of the station would be most helpful."

"I've seen a map. But my clearance blocks my view of much of the station."

"Hm. Do whatever you can. I need the shortest route out or the least protected. But don't get yourself in trouble. I'm still locked in the Black Wing, and I can't help you—yet."

"Okay."

Stukov looked distant for a moment.

"I should go. Narud sometimes comes very early to catch me off guard. I will see you later, yes?"

"Yes," Tran said, sliding back under the covers. Stukov gave her a bemused smile.

"You're sure you don't want me to sing you to sleep again?"

"That won't be necessary." Stukov laughed his rasping laugh again and put his rough hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair as he had done the last time. It was a fatherly gesture. She remembered vaguely that he had children. They could possibly have been her age.

"I'll see you later then. Goodnight."

Stukov stood and disappeared.

In the morning, Tran made sure not to make the mistake of arriving too early. But she still entered the Black Wing anxiously, not knowing what she would find there. The corridor was loud with shrieks of the infested from within their pens. They seemed agitated, which filled her with dread. As she entered the airlock to Stukov's pen, her fears were confirmed when she heard a terrible scream. Tran stopped and waited. The screaming went on and on. She wondered if there was anything that she could do. _Would interrupting it stop it? I doubt it. I don't think he's exactly hiding what he's doing to him._

"You son of a bitch! When I get my hands on you…" Stukov screamed again. Tran blindly ran through the airlock, unsure of what she was going to do. She hit the intercom button.

"Dr. Narud?" There was silence and then a panicked shuffling. Dr. Narud appeared, serious-faced, wiping his bloodied gloves on his hazmat suit.

"Ah, Tran. I'm so sorry. The time got away from me. Please come in. No need to stay outside. We're just doing a little testing."

Tran sighed and nodded. She swallowed hard as she stepped through the last door. As she put her foot down, her shoe squelched in something slippery and wet. She looked down. It was blood. Carefully, she stepped across to Dr. Narud who seemed nonplussed by the blood on nearly every surface in the room. As she neared him, she saw Stukov lying on the floor in the distance in the dim light.

"I'll just take a sample," Tran muttered, "and let you return to your…" She stopped, realizing that what was on the floor wasn't Stukov—or wasn't all of him. It was just his right leg from the hip joint down. Around his ankle was a heavy-duty strap and a chain.

"Oh, hmm…" Dr. Narud said, turning to her, "Sorry about the, uh, mess. I know you're not used to this yet. We have to gauge how destructible and indestructible the infested are—especially those like X1 here. What we do to him may be helpful in defeating the Queen of Blades if she reemerges. Today we were testing the tensile strength of infested tissues." Tran could not help but let her mouth drop open a bit. Dr. Narud's lips curled into a half smile at this. "Don't worry. He does not feel pain. All of…that… is autonomic response. He's not human and he's certainly not alive." Tran didn't respond. She scanned the room, looking for the rest of Stukov. In the distance, she heard a gurgling moan. "If it bothers you, a sample from his leg will be fine. I'll suspend the testing… for now." Dr. Narud walked towards Stukov's voice.

Tran thought of him, thinking that she could contact him or catch his attention. She did, but all she heard back was gibberish to her; either he was speaking in Russian or was totally out of his mind with pain—or both. Tran cut into the leg and quickly made her exit.

On her way to the lab, her fear became anger and then resolve. _I can't let Dr. Narud do this to him anymore. And I can't be part of these experiments._ She knew somewhere on this station were hundreds, maybe thousands of protoss—just like there were infested, and, somewhere, zerg. _This place is a giant war crime. And an unstable antimatter bomb just a jostle from exploding_. _If anything happened to release either the zerg or protoss population_ … She would have to find a way for him to escape his cell and _Skygeirr_.

She dropped off the sample and portioned it but didn't stay. Tran decided that the best way to determine the layout of the station was to walk it. When she got into the elevator, she inserted her ID card and then started at the top punching the indicator buttons. She pressed five of them until finally one lighted up. The elevator started moving swiftly. There were ten floors above the Black Wing that she had access to. She collected herself and walked out into the hallway like she knew where she was going.

As she walked briskly through the hallway, she wondered why she had clearance on this floor. She assumed because someone's office that she might need to interface with at some point was here. Keeping her eyes open, she made note of everything she saw. There were many meeting rooms on this floor, and it seemed to be a kind of "keeping up appearances" wing. She passed a group being led by a doctor she had never seen before comprised of what looked like investors and dignitaries. There seemed to be some sort of fake or superficial hospital on this floor with human "patients." From what she saw, nothing was being treated here that was more serious than a case of the flu. There was no surgery ward that she could see or even a bionic workbay. No one seemed to care or notice that she was there. She had the impression that most of the people walking around were for show. Their lab coats were impeccably clean and they were all uniformly good looking, fit, and young. It was a show for visitors.

She continued walking, following the hallway to where it would extend over Stukov's cell. But she was stopped by a glass wall. Beyond it was a large atrium that connected on one side to the space elevator which extended to the top of the station and the docking platforms above and whatever Moebius lab existed on the planet's surface below. Small ships ferried cargo up and down it after passing through an oculus to the tether on the other side. Below where she stood was a small airlock that she watched a gravflyer fly through pulling a small load. The load bucked as it passed, and there was a number and a color on the side. She recognized the number. It was a lab—a zerg lab.

Otherwise, it was picturesque inside with vertical hydroponic zero gee flower beds hung in different places, creating the illusion of the area being a garden. _Looks like the best way out is… up this atrium and then to the tether._ But there were a few floors in between his cell and this level. _I could get him out of the wing, up the elevator… Then all he'd need to do is to break through here. Or we could…_

Her thought was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. Tran turned around, startled.

"Miss Tran, what are you doing here?"

"Uh, taking a walk," she said, trying to think of good reason for being where she was. The last thing she wanted to do was to make Dr. Narud suspicious.

"Here?" Tran thought of different excuses, but none of them were good. She began to panic.

"Honestly, I was just seeing how far my new clearance would take me," she blurted out. Dr. Narud squinted at her suspiciously but then laughed in a fatherly, knowing way that Tran knew to be entirely fake.

" _Skygeirr_ does have its interesting corners, I suppose…" He looked wistfully past her and into the atrium beyond. "Yes…" He said, seemingly deep in thought. "It's somehow soothing to watch the transports flutter here and there."

"The hanging gardens are a nice touch."

"You're quite right."

"What is this floor?"

"Oh… It's the administrative and marketing wing. So that we don't have to issue clearance for investors, we keep them corralled in this area. They don't need to see the pens unless they absolutely have to."

"Smart, I guess."

"I thought so," Dr. Narud said, smiling in his cat-like way again. "Have a good walk, Miss Tran."

He turned and stalked swiftly away. Tran exhaled heavily. _He really is creepy. I'd rather not encounter him just out of the blue, but at least he's up here and not with Admiral Stukov._ She realized that now would be a good time to go and see him. But she couldn't. She had already gotten a sample. Something compelled her to go. It was an itch at the base of her skull and a faint whisper. It was as if thinking his name had summoned him in some way. _Admiral Stukov?_ She thought again. In her mind, she heard a sound like someone talking lowly but far away and behind a door. The speech was garbled, but she could tell it was English. Now, it was yelling.

Anxiety struck Tran again. What were they doing to him that she could hear him telepathically from here? She walked back to the elevator consciously slowing herself as she went. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself on a floor where she had no reason to be. In the elevator, she struggled to keep her composure, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. As the elevator swiftly came to a stop, she almost leapt out of it. Tran frantically put on her hazmat suit as she scrubbed in, almost falling traying to put her pants on while walking.

 _Slow down._ She stopped in the last chamber of the decontamination room. _I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm not under duress. I can link telepathically with you from a greater distance now on a conscious level. I was just trying to get your attention and got a little frustrated._

_You scared me. I saw what Dr. Narud was doing…_

_If you don't want to see, don't come in. I'm not "together" yet. You shouldn't come in anyway. You've already taken a sample today, yes?_

_Yes, but I want to talk to you._

_Go to the infested pens. Act like you're doing an inspection. I'll talk to you there. I wanted to show you something anyway._

Relieved, Tran walked out into the Black Wing corridor. It was eerily quiet. The infested weren't restless as they usually were. There were none of the shrieks and moans or random, repetitive shouts that she had come to expect from the infested. Steeling herself, she entered one of the pens—and stopped. All around her, the zombie-like infested were still. They stood straight and at attention. Not a limb on them moved. All of them were facing forward towards the hallway, and all were perfectly silent and still. She couldn't decide if this was less unnerving or more.

_What happened?_

_I have gained control. I've known for some time that the infested react to me psionically. They are… stirred by fluctuations in my health or emotional state. But something has clicked or turned on in my mind. I can feel them, and I can bend them to my will._

_I guess that's good, but that's also disturbing._

Stukov chuckled. _I agree. But at least now I have a weapon. If I use the infested together, I can break the pens open. I've been studying the destroyer. I think I know where the power conduits are in the corridor. Hitting one would free me and disable the device. But… where to go from there?_

_Up. Straight up. There are a few floors above you, but then there's an open, enclosed space to ferry supplies around._

_Can you… visualize it for me?_

She thought about it, retracing her steps. He mentally stopped her at the transport that she thought was full of zerg.

_Interesting. That might be what triggered my psionic spike. The more zerg are here, the more minds I am connected to. That would make me more powerful. They may not realize it, but they are slowly constructing a swarm with me at the center as an overmind. But then again, I wonder. Is it purposeful? Is he making me more powerful on purpose to use me later?_

_And then all of this torture is to break you?_

_Yes, it would then seem so._ In her mind, she replayed her conversation with Dr. Narud.

_He saw you?_

_Yes._

_Do you think he suspects anything?_

_No? I don't know. How could you tell?_

He uttered an annoyed growl. _He is inscrutable. And fucking terrifying._

She nonverbally agreed. Walking around the pens, she marveled at what Stukov could now do.

_You should leave. I need to let them go so they don't suspect._

_If they ask me about it because I'm on camera, what do I say?_

_Tell them you haven't been working long and you didn't know that was out of the ordinary. Plausible deniability._

_Right._

_It looks like I have the start of a plan,_ Stukov thought to her as she stepped out into the hallway.

_Sure, but when and how are you going to execute it?_

_If Narud doesn't draw and quarter me again like he did today, once I am healed I am going to try to get out. I am confident if the infested left their pens that they could help me breach the ceiling and then make my way up._

_There's a forcefield on the top of the shaft. And I'm sure there's a physical emergency barrier that could be moved into place._

_The power will be off. Hopefully I can make my way up before it closes._

_Even if you do, you're going to need transport to get off the station. I can help you!_

_How?_

_I don't know, but I'll figure it out._ Tran knew what the hangar and upper platforms looked like. It had been awhile, but she was pretty sure she could sneak her way up and commandeer a shuttle or one of the small runabouts.

 _Absolutely not,_ Stukov said with finality. _I will not let you risk your life to for mine._

_I'm coming with you._

_No. Get out of this god-forsaken place, but don't_ fight _your way out! Get a transfer. Request leave and get lost. You owe me nothing, much less your life. Narud_ will _kill you._

 _You need my help, Admiral. I'm going to help you whether you like it or not!_ Tran waited for his reply but was met with silence. _Admiral?_ She could hear the infested moaning and raging again. He had withdrawn.

The rest of the day for Tran went quickly. She was preoccupied with Stukov and his plan. She hoped it would work, but she knew that without her it would most likely not. Waving the lights out in the lab, she stopped, staring at the storage closet. She walked to it and pulled out the box that held Stukov's old uniform. _If anything, he shouldn't have to fight his way out of this place buck naked._ Tran took it out and folded it, still in the paper, under her arm. Awkwardly, she positioned herself so that it wasn't in the view of the cameras until she could stuff it under her lab coat as she walked out. She bypassed the commissary, not wanting anyone to see her—especially the chatty man she had met from the Hybrid Wing—and went straight to her quarters. As she sat in her small room, she carefully unwrapped the paper and held the uniform in her hands. She imagined him there as he had been in her dreams, rubbing the fabric in her hands and running her fingers down the front of the jacket, the cold, metal buttons feeling wet on her palm. But even in her daydream, he put his hand gently around her wrist to stop her; she could feel his ring bite into her skin.

It wasn't late enough for her to be tired, but she laid in bed anyway, mindlessly surfing the intranet on her datapad. Tran drifted off and her datapad smacked her in the face. Annoyed and feeling kind of stupid, she put it away, undressed, and gave up. It was only 1900 hours, but she decided to sleep anyway. Almost immediately, she regretted it. Tran dreamed that she was in the infested pens. All the infested were standing still as they had with Stukov, but instead of facing one direction, they were all facing her. Their sightless eyes bored into her flesh. Behind her a hand clasp her shoulder—hard. She turned to find Narud smiling at her his awful smile, but his eyes were black and his skin shiny and inhuman. Around her, the infested began howling horrifically. She was frozen in fear.

"Ah, Miss Tran…"

 _Sgt. Tran?_ A booming telepathic voice cut through the din. She looked away from Narud. And then he wasn't there. The infested vanished from their pens. And at once, the room fell apart and she was in her room sitting on her bed. And reclining in her desk chair, facing her, was Admiral Stukov.

"You need to be kinder to yourself. You are not at fault for my situation. But… at least you know who the _real_ monster is."

"You didn't want to speak to me earlier. Why are you here?"

"I'm healing faster after all that he's done to me," he shrugged. "That may be the point. Who knows? I've healed and I'm leaving tomorrow. I wanted you to know."

"Are you sure? Do you think he knows about your telepathy? Or about how the infested are under your control or the zerg overmind… thing?"

He exhaled sharply and raised his eyebrows. "Impossible to tell. I can't read him. I'm afraid to try. His thoughts do not 'broadcast' to me as humans do. His brain is different—like a protoss," he said, rolling the r. "Alien. I'm sure of it."

"But not protoss or zerg?"

"No."

"This is such a bad idea. You're going to get out, but you're not going to be able to leave. You need me. I'll go up to the launch platform and…"

He leaned forward and looked at her fiercely.

"That is the other reason I am here. Do _not_ get involved. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, no matter _what_ Narud tells you, do _not_ interfere."

"You can't ask me to not…"

"I can. I'm your commanding officer, yes?" Tran didn't answer. He crossed his arms with satisfaction. "I don't want someone else dying because of misplaced loyalty to me or the Directorate."

"That's not what this is! I'm not _loyal_ to you, I…" the words caught in her throat. Stukov sat back and shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"Now that's an even _worse_ reason," he said frowning slightly. Stukov stood, walking over to her. "Stay away and stay alive. Now. Sleep." Even knowing it was a dream, she felt heavy in her limbs. Stukov chuckled at her and helped her under the blanket even as she fought it mentally, he smoothed her hair as she drifted off. The weight of his hand disappeared suddenly. He had left her mind. She felt weary and depressed. He wanted nothing to do with her. And why would he? Her perceived inadequacies flooded in on her, and she cried as she finally went to sleep.

There was darkness for a few moments—or hours; it was hard to tell two levels deep in sleep. But she was suddenly awake; there was someone in the room. Tran opened her eyes, and Stukov was there again, standing beside her bed looking down at her.

"I thought you wanted me to sleep?" She said, whispering.

"I changed my mind," he said, smiling slightly. Stukov sat carefully on the bed.

"About… tomorrow?"

"No. About you." She studied him. He was looking at her in a penetrating way, his dark eyes locked on hers. If what he said was an innuendo, she wasn't going to take it as such. It was too likely that it was her own mind interpreting it in a "wishful thinking" sort of way. She admitted to herself, finally, that she was attracted to him. She slid out of bed and sat next to him.

"About me helping you tomorrow?"

"Yes, what did you plan to do?"

"Well, I'm going to bring you your uniform, for starters. I forgot to tell you."

"Where did you find that?"

"In the lab. It was stored there."

"Ah. What else?"

"I'll go up to the launching pad. Commandeer a ship. I have a small derringer. The guards up there only have concealable weapons. Anything else looks bad for business…"

"Hmm."

"We'll both get out, Admiral." He chuckled.

"You're planning to run away with me, yet you still call me Admiral?"

"What do you want me to call you?"

"Alexei, Miss Tran."

"Alexei…" She said hoarsely, as Stukov turned to her. "You're going to have to call me Jamie then." The strap of Tran's silken nightgown slipped off her shoulder. She had started wearing it subconsciously, but whenever she went to sleep, she was always wearing something else in her dream. Except now. Their eyes met again, and he seemed to be searching her face for something. His rough hand brushed her hair out of her face, pushing it behind her ear. He traced the back of his fingers down her cheek. She took a halting breath. Under her nightgown, she could feel her nipples turn sensitive under the cold fabric.

"You're a beautiful girl," he said, as if he was realizing it for the first time. He put his hand underneath her chin, touching her lightly to raise her face to his. She accepted the kiss nervously. Tran felt as if she was getting away with something. He had been her commander, and on the _Aleksander_ this would have gotten them both in a lot of trouble. He was married, and she was his subordinate. If anyone had found out, it would have meant a court martial—for both of them. And if Narud knew he could "visit" her this way, she would also be in trouble. The perceived danger made it just that much more arousing. She kissed him desperately and he pulled her to him.

Tran noticed as he helped her pull her nightgown over her head that he was not wearing his ring. He must have come here knowing what he would do, she reasoned. He gently pushed her down on the bed then removed his jacket and shirt. She ran her hands down his body, which was alive-looking now and pink with no scars. She could see now that his chest and abdomen was covered in still-black hair. But he was well-muscled, as most in the military were, and his physique looked better when it was not riddled in infestation and had the pallor of a cadaver. He bent down to her, kissing her again, but his mouth started to wander. He slid down the bed so he could take her small breast into his mouth. She felt his beard and lips against it and then the wetness of his mouth as he sucked lightly on her nipple and flicked it slowly with his tongue. Tran moaned, pulling her knees up and wrapping her legs around his torso. He moved to the other breast, and as he did, he shifted his weight. Tran gasped as Stukov brushed the seat of her panties with his fingers. Finding how wet she was, he began stroking her, and finally pushed two fingers inside. He slid down to her waist, removing her panties. Their eyes met again as he gently and rhythmically pushed his fingers in and out of her. She spread her legs wider and tilted her hips up, rocking them in time with his strokes. Her eyes pleaded with him. _Do it. Eat me or fuck me, or both… Just_ do _it, Alexei._ _God damn it._ He positioned himself between her legs and lowered his head, watching her reaction as his face brushed her vulva and he finally eased his tongue against her clit. She quivered and gasp again. He started tracing a circle around her clit slowly and moved his fingers inside her.

It was just as she imagined it. He was taking his time and paying attention to her needs. But he was maddeningly gentle. She grabbed what she could of his hair and pushed him towards her harder, grinding herself on his face. He seemed to get the message, lapping at her clit and fingering her with more force. Her legs began to shake, and her body started to try to twist away from him.

"Don't stop," she gasped. He held onto her, and she felt a cry forcing its way out of her. She screamed his name as her hips bucked and she felt herself contract around his fingers, pleasure traveling up her from his mouth to her hips. He stayed where he was, gently teasing her clit a few more times, making aftershocks spread through her body. _Experience is a hell of a thing_ , she thought. _He knows just what to do to me._ His knowledge of strategy, she realized, bemused, extended further than fighting. He began removing his belt and pants. She was used to him naked, but she was surprised again. _This is his fantasy as much it is mine_. _But if he was going to touch himself up_ , she thought, _why not also omit the body hair_?

He got back on the bed quickly. She moved towards him, putting her hand on his member, stroking it. He kissed her, pushing her back down on the bed. She wasn't really a fan of missionary position, but he seemed to be one of those people who liked to see the look on their partner's face when they were fucking. He slid his member over her slit, teasing her. She started to become aroused again, rocking her hips against his cock. She wanted him inside her, not caring what position they were in. Finally, he pushed himself inside her. She moaned, feeling him fill her. Settling down over her, he kissed her passionately. Despite not wanting him this way, she liked the closeness and tenderness. The relationships she had between her service and her life in the Koprulu had been perfunctory out of necessity. She never let anyone get to close because of her connection to Earth. It was nice to have someone that she could open up to-someone she trusted. It was like they had known each other for years. She realized she had but from a distance. But the maddening slowness and gentleness wasn't doing it for her. Stukov stopped and sat up.

"You look bored. How do you want..." He said questioningly. Tran smirked and turned over. He chuckled and positioned himself behind her, pulling her hips back towards him, entering her again. He was right where she wanted him, his cock thrusting deeply inside her. Tran moved her hips against him in rhythm. Stukov was giving it to her harder now, responding to her throwing herself back on him. He stopped for a moment and growled in encouragement as she continued to move back on him, urging him deeper. Stukov shifted behind her, raising one of his legs to a half-kneel to make the angle steeper and give him more leverage.

"Yes!" She moaned but caught herself. _Wait. This is a dream. I can be as loud as I fucking want to._ "God, you're so deep… Make me _cum_." Stukov made a surprised noise and grabbed her hips, forcefully pulling her back on him. She started touching herself as he pounded her harder. Her legs began to shake again. She was at the brink, "Yes," she gasped, "oh, _Admiral_ , cum inside me!" _Oops_ , she thought as she let go and came again. He didn't seem to notice as she felt him shudder against her and become uncoordinated. She sank down into the bed, and he laid down on top of her, kissing the back of her neck.

"You called me 'admiral.'"

"Yeah. Sorry. Habit?" She said sheepishly. He rolled on his side and gathered her up next to him. Tran could feel wetness between her legs and on the sheets. _You know, this dream is a little_ too _real._

"I should leave. Tomorrow will be… taxing."

"But I'll be there with you."

"Good."

Tran drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, she was a little disappointed that he wasn't there. She was also surprised to be still wet. _I guess it was just that real of a dream_. She showered and nervousness started to settle into her mind. _Today is the day we…_

Shaking, she put on her clothes and packed a bag. Tran was unsure if she would be able to take it with her, but there were things that she needed. The ceramic derringer she had been able to smuggle onboard, the moonstone necklace her mother had given her that she never wore but always kept, and she needed somewhere to put Stukov's uniform as she carried to him in the Black Wing. As she took her necklace out, something metallic clanged against the drawer's pull and clattered onto the ground. Stooping to pick it up, she realized what it was. _My bronze gammodon!_ Turning it over in her hands, her nervousness turned to giddy courage as she fumblingly pinned it to her undershirt and pulled her shift jacket over it. Carefully she folded Stukov's uniform again and put it in the bag. Tran took a deep breath after packing the bag and sat on her bed. _I'm as ready as I'll ever be_ , she thought. Standing, she made her way to the door.

Making eye contact with no one, she went straight to the Black Wing, scrubbing in as she normally did, but taking his uniform out of the bag and stashing the bag in the clean room before she went in and hiding the uniform under her jacket. She was relieved to find that there was no sign of Narud. It was early, but it didn't seem like Narud had been there and sprang something nasty on Stukov. She entered the X1 pen. As she walked into the darkness inside, she could feel Stukov connect to her mind. She felt confusion tinged with anger.

_What are you doing here, Sergeant?_

_You're calling me Sergeant now?_

_I told you not to…_

_I have your uniform._

_My uniform?_

Stukov dropped down from the ceiling silently. She looked up. In the night, he had disabled the psi destroyer somehow and had rerouted its power source. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling. He was already making progress.

 _You're an officer of the UED. You should look like one._ Stukov said nothing, but she could feel that he approved. Gently, he took it out of her hands, shaking it out and looking at it. He immediately put on the pants and cap.

 _I don't know how I'm going to get the rest of it on…_ he thought to her.

 _You'll think of something._ She unzipped her suit and her jacket to show him her bronze gammodon. _You always think of something._ Stukov stared at her for a moment then sighed, a mixture of sadness and pained nostalgia feeding back to her.

_Go. Get out of here. If Narud comes, I don't want him to catch you here with me._

Tran left the Black Wing quickly, taking the personnel elevator up to the platform. No one seemed to think anything about her presence in the large lift as they rose above the bulk of the station into the open inner structure of the platform. She was wearing plainclothes and a backpack and fit the image of someone going on leave. From the elevator now she could see all the way down into the parts of the station she had never seen but had heard about: the temples and the labs amongst them where the hybrid were bred. She hoped when all this was done that Stukov would return with whatever forces he could muster and destroy the place—and Narud. _Alexei thinks I want to leave because of him, but it's just as much because of Narud. I can't be around him anymore._

The lift stopped at the disembarkation lounge, an area akin to a customs stop in a small country. Because the station was technically headquartered outside of the Dominion, anyone leaving had to show papers documenting their citizenship. But she wasn’t interested in leaving the station, just leaving to the tarmac. There was a lot of security, but most of it was focused on people coming in and not coming out. She sat down on a bench, making it look like she was waiting—and she was. Tran wondered how long it would be until Stukov made his way up to the top level. The wait was not long. Tran could feel the station shudder. A few people waiting around her looked up from their datapads. The four security guards on the ingress side reflexively put their hands on their sidearms and looked outside. Tran saw an opening. She ducked into a maintenance closet by one of the disembarkation gates. Inside, there were several atmo suits. She struggled into one just as she was knocked to the ground by an explosive force. She heard a call for evacuation to the lower levels, but ignored it, instead crouching and waiting until she thought everyone had left. Tran dug around in her bag for her derringer and then slung her bag over her shoulder, so she was ready to run.

 _This is it,_ she thought. Her training came back to her. She kept herself low, moving from bench to bench and finally looking outside. When she did, she gasped reflexively. There was creep all over the deck, and the infested swarmed over the top of the orbital tether and in the middle of the fray, she saw him. In his uniform but also infested, he was a strange mix to her of what he was and what he had become. Psionic power billowed from his cheek and eyes, and his face was full of cold fury. She heard the elevator come to life behind her, and she knew she had to leave. Rushing out onto the deck, she scanned the deck for a flyer ready to takeoff. There was a man closing the door to a freighter and she flagged him down desperately. Out of compassion, he stopped for her. She leapt into the cockpit and thanked him—and then pulled her gun out and ordered him out. It had been a long time since she flown a medievac shuttle, but she the controls were similar enough. She took off, flying low over the battlefield. A battalion of Dominion soldiers streamed out of the disembarkation lounge and out of a freight elevator. She moved towards Stukov, setting down near him and opening the cockpit door. Her heart was in her throat. It was now or never as the marines inched closer using flamethrowers to clear the creep.

“Sgt. Tran?” He said slowly, surprised.

“Let’s get out of here!” Stukov hesitantly took a step towards her.

“You’re… here?”

“Of course I am. Now let’s get out of here!”

Bewildered, Stukov marched over to her. His boot had just crossed the threshold when the deck heaved, throwing him to the ground and the freighter a few meters into the air. She watched with horror as something monstrous and huge climbed its way out of the orbital tether’s well. It was lop-sided and tentacles slithered out in every way from it. A long wail of rage or pain heralded its advance, but she realized with increasing fear that it had no mouth. Returning to herself, Tran gained control of the freighter again, wrestling it back down. Stukov was waiting for her.

“Psionic power of an order of magnitude I have never seen… It is a hybrid!”

In the thin atmosphere of the deck, she heard laughing and clapping. Across the deck, at the other end, stood a dark-skinned man.

“Bravo, Admiral.” He said with an arrogant-sounding American accent. “Props to you for putting that all together… but I guess you had help.”

“Just like Duran to Narud... Not exactly good at subtlety are you? What is your game, Narud?”

“Game? The long one. The ancient one. I’m trying to _break_ it. And you and your little girlfriend won’t stand in my way.”

“Girlfriend?”

The hybrid slithered towards Stukov, howling.

“You’ll have to excuse my new experiment… He’s a little… half-baked at the moment.”

Stukov growled and sent his infested at the hybrid. There was a crash behind Narud and he turned suddenly. Banelings burst from the deck followed by hydralisks. They advanced on him.

“The zerg?” Tran shouted, confused.

“Naughty Stukov. You didn’t tell her everything.”

“Just get in, Stukov. We can go… that was the _plan_.”

“Plan? This was not the plan! The plan was for you to _stay here_ and _leave safely_!”

“But when you came back! You said… we’d leave… together!”

“Came back? I didn’t…”

Tran looked at him wide-eyed. Duran laughed raucously.

"I think she enjoyed herself--more than you did, at any rate, Stukov. But there's no accounting for taste, is there?"

Tran looked at Stukov's hand. He was wearing his ring.

“Oh god…” Tran gasped. She felt simultaneously sick and like she wanted to peel her own skin off. Black rage seethed in Stukov's face as he looked at Duran.

“That son of a bitch… He knew. He knows. You must go.”

“No…” Tran began to cry.

“Find Raynor. Tell him I am here and what you’ve seen.”

Tran heard a terrible laugh. She turned, and out of her peripheral vision, she saw Narud change form again. He was a hideous being, like the hybrid but whole--a monstrous shape. Psionic energy arced from him towards the freighter. Stukov stood between them and absorbed the blow, and began glowing with his own psionic power.

“Go now!”

Tran closed the cockpit door, and shaken by what she had seen, she banked the freighter up and away from _Skygeirr_. _I’ll tell them, Admiral_ , she thought. _I’ll come back for you!_

But as she began to prep for the jump to FTL, three black ships decloaked off the freighter’s starboard bow.


End file.
